


A 4 Letter Word for Love

by TheLastKitten



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastKitten/pseuds/TheLastKitten
Summary: Technically, Sherlock didn't survive "The Fall", but death is not always an ending; Mycroft's been keeping secrets and goldfish; and Molly has a secret admirer.





	1. Week One

One week.  
John stared at the metal and leather chair. He could stand there forever and count each fleck of dust that wafted by the thick beam of sunlight.   
He closed his eyes and shuddered; every blink seemed to bring forth the image of Sherlock plummeting, the heaping thud as he met the concrete.  
The seeping river of blood, the empty sky blue eyes, and the fading warmth from a paling limp wrist.   
John thought he would vomit.   
His brow was instantly moist and his stomach churned.   
For a moment he feared his knees would give out, but he steadied himself in the doorway.   
‘Does losing just a “friend” really hurt like this John?’  
John covered his ears.  
The voice was back.  
The voice.  
It was the same voice that lead him through the mile long corridors of the British Library to the ancient medical texts. Somehow the latin seemed familiar.  
It was the voice that led him to Chloe his first girlfriend.  
And to Charles...his first boyfriend.   
It was that voice that had given him the half second that saved his life in Afghanistan.  
And ultimately that voice was the final nudge to follow Mike Stamford to that fateful St. Bart’s Hospital.  
“No”, john quietly admitted to the room.  
Silence  
John wished his mind would stay quiet, stiff upper lip and all that, right?   
The week had been a blur and he hadn’t registered a word said to him in days.  
He looked around then, suddenly realizing he had no idea when or how he’d gotten back to baker street.   
Mrs. Hudson wasn’t in, she’d have snapped him from his stupor long ago.  
John stepped farther into the living room until his loafer clad toes just breached the circle of light on the floor.   
And then he began to speak, compulsively.  
“I can’t tell,” he cleared his throat and took a breath. “I don’t sleep much these days.”  
He chuckled briefly at the irony of his lecturing Sherlock on the benefits of proper sleeping habits.   
“Which of course leaves me with plenty of time to think.”  
The doctor shook his head as a tratorish tear fell from his eye.   
“Why didn’t I say it,” his breath hitched. “Why didn’t I tell you when you...when you were here.”   
He choked back the sob.   
“Would it have mattered?” He turned to better yell at the walls. “Would you have come to me, been honest with me...for once. Let me in for once you bast…..”   
The curse died in his throat as his knees finally gave way, and he sank to the floor. A gloved hand covered his mouth to quiet his pain.   
“I love you Sherlock,” John whispered.  
“I lov...ed you so much. More than you, or I, or anyone knew”.   
John’s hand pressed at his heart, “and I need you.” It was a fierce whisper.   
He sat there for a while, letting his tears dampen his jumper, but the familiar ache in his knee let him know it was time to move on, at least for today.  
He braced himself on the arm of his old chair and stood.   
Just then a muted crash came from down the hall.  
John turned on his heel, reaching for the gun he kept tucked in the back of his trousers.   
“Who’s there,” he called. “You’re trespassing on private property.”  
He approached Sherlock’s room silently and eased the door open.   
On the windowsill sat a small black cat, it’s fur long and shiny, and from the black studded collar around it’s neck hung a little gold bell.   
The wayward feline looked as if it’d been caught, paw extended to tap at the side of another small ceramic potted plant, as it’s ‘bored’ blue green eye stared up at John.   
The doctor shook his head and walked over to the cat, patting it’s feather soft head.   
“Where’d you come from little guy.” John picked up the purring wriggling cat and she deftly jumped out of his arms over his shoulder and out the bedroom door.   
He chuckled as he followed the tinkling bell just as the closet door slowly swung open.

In slow motion Sherlock watched his hand reach out to John. He’d just caught sight of the dark brown leather jacket when a large hand wrapped itself around his throat, a second covering his mouth, and together they pulled him back into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The beeping was so light, only someone trained to sleep lightly would have heard it, which was why Mycroft was slowly shifting and blinking the sleep from his eyes.  
Carefully he disentangled himself from the strong arms of the greying man next to him, but he stopped to lightly sweep his fingers through the salt and pepper strands, frowning at the realization that he’d probably been the cause of most of them.  
Swiping his phone from the nightstand, and his robe from a plush leather chair, he made his way to his study.   
Mycroft closed and locked the door behind him before coming to a stop in front of a massive bookshelf. His fingers deftly pulled a well worn but sturdy leather bound book forward, “A Tangled Skein”.  
Slowly the wall slid aside to reveal a small adjourning room with soft red walls.  
With the press of a button the projection of a round table and six colorful symbols lit up the room.  
“Thank you for joining us Mr. Holmes,” a sharp green eyed blond woman spoke first and Mycroft nodded.   
“We’ve received word that there was another anomaly recorded today. Has anyone confirmed that it was the same energy signature as the one last week?” The woman looked around at her constituents.  
Mycroft took a deep breath through his nose and kept his features calm, his eyes flitting to the earthy brown skinned, shamrock green eyed woman to his right.  
“The data is still being analyzed. It’s taking some time but the readings so far do seem to be similar.” The british government sighed feigning weariness, “we will have more data by tomorrow evening and I’ll have my secretary brief you…,”  
“Your secretary?” An almond eyed man muttered a curse in mandarin. “This requires your full attention. There is nothing more pressing than finding out wh….”   
The man’s voice had begun to rise but Mycroft silenced him with the rase of his hand.   
“As I stated during our last meeting,” he spoke calmly, his tone even but for a slight edge of annoyance. “I will not be available for the next 48 hours for anything less than a dire outright threat to either national or world security. All other matters shall be handled by my secretary or held until I return. When we have more data it will be passed along with all due haste, but until then,” Mycroft stood and five pairs of eyes glared at him. “I bid you good day.”   
He ended the meeting with the press of a button on his phone.   
Taking a moment to listen for prying ears Mycroft opened his phone and dialed the first number on his speed dial.  
“Shouldn’t you be asleep,” a woman yawned into the phone.  
“Whatever happened today was noticed,” Mycroft complained in a whisper.   
“Ah jeez, Myc. Your brother is stubborn as a three legged mule,” she sighed with a chuckle. “John went back to Baker Street.”   
Mycroft paced, “you said he wouldn’t be affected.”  
“Their connection is extraordinary….” The woman stopped abruptly.   
“Hello?”  
“I’m sorry Myc, I know you two really need this time. I’ll bind him a bit tighter.”  
“Thank you Lenora.” Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Give him my regards won’t you?”  
“Of course, go on back to bed, and give my love to Greg. We’ll talk again soon.”  
Mycroft stifled a yawn as he ended the call and blinked at the time, 2AM.   
The British government only took two days off a year and nothing short of the apocalypse was going to keep him from it.   
He locked the bedroom door as he slipped back in and dropped his robe in the chair, the night chill prickling his bare frame.   
A gruff sleepy voice greeted him as he crawled back onto the massive bed.   
“Kardiá, you promised no work…,” Mycroft silenced the grumble with a kiss and made a point of visibly turning off his phone. “No work,” he smiled.   
Greg nodded and extended an arm to fold the taller man back into his chest, tucking the blanket in behind him.   
“I get you all to myself for forty eight whole hours,” Greg whispered stroking Mycroft’s chin.   
His lips were soft and warm when he touched them to his own.   
“Happy anniversary, Moyo,” Mycroft whispered with a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Kardiá (Ka-div-ya) means heart in Greek, and Moyo is heart in Swahili.   
> <_< I looked it up on bing translate…..   
> That is all….


	3. Chapter 3

One week….  
Molly’s wrist bobbed limply, barely supporting the weight of the brain saw. Chin resting in her other palm she stared down at her chosen snack of the day.   
What the hell had she been thinking? Pear Drops and Maltesers, all thrown together in a little tin.   
“Still resort to sweets I see,” a playful voice quipped from the doorway.   
Molly flipped two metal trays in her scramble to catch the slipping brain saw.  
The Woman stifled her laughter with a gloved hand, almost demure, as she stepped further into the lab.  
“Ms. Addler! How did you...I mean why are you,” Molly stumbled over her words, eyes darting around the room, as she stood, but she was stilled when Irene dropped her large black fur to the floor, took her cheeks in hand, and kissed the alphabet from her lips.  
“Shut up,” she whispered between them. Irene could taste the creamy chocolate as she passed her tongue over Molly’s lips. “You don’t have to play that role with me.” Her eyes fell to Molly’s downy soft lips.   
Molly closed her eyes as they rested their foreheads together.  
Slowly her veneer began to break till her shoulders were shaking with sobs and Irene wrapped her arms around the small ME.   
Molly moved to hug her but stopped short, remembering her brain and blood covered fingers.   
They both began to laugh as they untangled and removed their respective gloves before embracing properly. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Molly whispered.   
Irene stepped back, “where else on earth could I possibly be.”  
Molly laughed and shook her head, “anywhere, you could literally be anywhere.”  
“True!” Irene smiled, plucking a tissue from a nearby box to better clean Molly’s face. “But there’s nowhere else i’d rather be.” She fully handed the tissue to Molly, “go on and blow”.  
A few moments later they sat together, hand in hand, in Molly’s office.  
“How the bloody hell did you get back into London? I’m sure at least Mycroft and Lenny already know you’re here.”  
Irene shrugged, “when I heard he was gone,” she rubbed gently at Molly’s palm, meeting her eyes squarely. “I had to come back. If not for him or myself, then for you. I know how much he meant to you.” Molly let lose a teary smile and squeezed The Woman’s hands.  
“Thank you….. I’m just so so shocked...but pleased,” she stumbled. “That you’re here. After our last meeting I never thought I’d see you again. I thought.” Molly shook her head and sniffed, forcing herself to keep contact with the eyes she’d been trying to avoid for over a decade. “I know what I did was...unforgivable….”   
She rubbed her thumb across Irene’s wrist, remembering the perfume she’d smelled there. “I was a different person when I worked for...them.” Molly’s eyes darted around the rooms, quietly showing Irene where the bugs were hidden. “...and I couldn’t...wasn’t supposed to...feel. If my superiors had even suspected….” She faltered. “I couldn’t think of any other way….”   
Molly’s past was known to three people in all of England, one of which was currently holding her hands. Her acting skills had been fooling the great Sherlock Holmes for years, with a little help from both the seated and unseated british governments.   
Irene closed her eyes. “What you did was cowardly.”Her head hung, “you ran away from me, left me to pick up the pieces of a life I didn’t think was possible for someone like me.”  
Molly’s eyes were wide with fear.   
They’d had more than love once.  
Trust.  
The most fragile and basic component of young love.   
They were too young, to jaded, and to innocent to weather the tidal wave of blood and tribulation they’d be hit with.   
When the dust settled Molly had stared down at Irene’s broken body and cried, silent like the grave, unintentionally, for the second time in her life.   
Looking into Irene’s eyes today had been the third.   
When she looked up it was with a mirth and clarity that had taken nearly two decades to find.  
“You also kept that bastard from killing me.” Irene squeezed her hands. “And when I was released from the hospital Lenny was waiting for me with passports, cash, and a safe house.”  
Molly smiled and swiveled slightly in her chair, “Well that must have been helpful.”  
“Oh it was. That hundred thousand euros didn’t hurt.”  
Molly tried to keep the mirth in her voice, “I couldn’t have lived knowing you weren’t taken care of.” She scooted her chair closer. “I still can’t.”  
They were so close Molly could smell the cherry of her lipstain. She’d remembered. Nearly twenty years and she could still remember the echo of their first kiss.   
“Where are you staying, while you’re in town?” Her focus was split, but only between Irene’s eyes and lips.   
“There’s a cabby outside with your address in his GPS,” Irene grinned.  
Molly kissed her quickly and stood to grab their coats, helping Irene in to hers, before slipping on her own and offering The Woman her arm.   
“I’ve got a ton of PTO saved up,” she said with a wink, guiding them out of the morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: In this version of what happens after The Reichenbach Fall, none of the characters aside from Mycroft, Lestrade, and a speckle of non cannon characters know how Sherlock survived the fall.


	4. Chapter 4

The first dream came three months to the day after Sherlock’s fall, and it began as John was startled out of bed.   
‘Ofh! Bloody hell,’ he grumbled, half asleep. He rolled on to his side from his back, rising onto an elbow and peering blearily into the darkness. There on his windowsill, framed by the brightest moonlight he'd ever seen in London, sat the same black cat he’d chased from 221B, complete with bell and missing eye.   
‘How….’ The ex soldier sighed as he fell back on to his pillow.   
From across the room he heard the soft meow, then a moment later a meow from the foot of the bed, but he cracked an eye open when the cat called from atop his chest.  
John rubbed at a feathery black ear, ‘How the blazes did you get in my flat little one?’  
The cat stretched out on his chest placing a hairy paw on his lips and John chuckled. Suddenly the cat stood and walked to the edge of the bed, turning back to whine at him again.   
‘Mmm, what, are you hungry?’  
The doctor squinted over at his clock mumbling, ‘11:45, ballocks.’ He ran a hand through his hair as he pulled back his blankets and swung his legs over the side of his lumpy bed. ‘I just layed down an hour ago cat,’ he complained, clicking on his bedside lamp.  
‘Meeeeow,’ the cat whined across the small room from atop his dresser. It pawed at his clothes folded neatly in anticipation of tomorrow’s work day, knocking down his slacks and shirt.   
John sighed again and stood. ‘Why do cats do that, just knock things over.’ He placed the folded clothing back in it’s pile and turned. ‘No reason, just making a mess because you’re boar….’  
The word died on his lips, his eyes wide and immediately wet.   
‘John’  
The doctor spun, eyes darting around the room and landing on the cat still sitting on top of his dresser, clearly watching him. His mouth fell open as the cat, looking him in the eyes, knocked his clothes off the dresser again.   
‘I’m going mad…’ John began as the cat leapt down and walked calmly over to his front door, sitting beside it and staring up at him.  
‘Meow,’ It cried before lifting it’s paw to touch the door.   
He almost laughed as he imagined Sherlock urging him on with a, ‘don’t be dull John, clearly the cat is talking to you’.   
John shook his head and shrugged, ‘what the hell right, I’ve seen stranger things running around the bloody country with Sh….’  
The blogger suddenly felt very old. He couldn’t even speak the man’s name. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before quickly dressing grabbing his keys and following the little black cat out into the night.  
The cat walked quickly in the light London fog, keeping just far enough ahead that John could see the swish of it’s fluffy black tail. The tinkling of it’s bell helped as well as the feline took a sudden left onto thick cobblestone streets that John had never seen before.   
The road seemed to dip into a spiral of lefts until leveling out near a row of homes converted in to small shops.   
The cat continued on until it came to a thick wooden door covered in ivy. John would have thought it abandoned if it weren’t for the warm glow from the window and the crescent moon shaped sign that read closed. The cat turned back to him and meowed before walking through the small flap at it’s base.   
‘Um, I don’t think I’m going to fit through there kitty,’ John chuckled.   
He rapped lightly but received no answer save for a meow from the other side.  
‘Hum…,’ John reached out for the handle and it turned easily so he stepped inside.   
Standing in the much to large darkened foyer he immediately felt strange, light headed, and he covered his eyes for a moment, blinking until they were able to adjust to the darkness.   
Finally clear eyed he saw the cat already walking towards the barely defined staircase at the end of the hall, and he called out as he followed it up the stairs. ‘Oy….’   
There was a strange blue light coming from under the door at the end of the hall he found at the top of the stairs and John looked down at his furry companion for guidance, but the cat was gone. He turned around in a half circle; he’d definitely chased it up here.   
The door before him was the only one in sight, so where had his furry friend gone?   
‘John’  
John turned wide eyes on the door, he’d know that voice anywhere.   
‘Sher...Sherlock....,’ he whispered already creeping down the hall.   
Once again the door was unlocked and the ex soldier’s breath caught in his throat as he slowly pushed it open.   
The room was massive, lavishly decorated with oversized furniture and a carpet he could feel bend beneath his well worn trainers. There was a large round bed at its center that sat directly beneath a similarly sized round skylight.   
What caused the doctor’s eyes to water was the sight of his late detective floating on his back above the bed, limbs limp, and eyes closed. Both he and the bed were encircled by a ring of light that tinted the white walls a deep ocean blue.   
John stared, mouth slack in shock as he stepped farther into the room. The raven curls shimmered as they were jostled by an unknown breeze.  
‘He looks like he’s floating under water,’ the doctor thought.   
‘John’   
The veteran started. He’d definitely heard Sherlock’s voice but the man’s lips never moved. The doctor edged closer to the ring, noting the glowing blue white line on the floor marking it’s edge.   
‘Sher…,’ John cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘Sherlock,’ he whispered.  
When the man didn’t answer he stepped closer, the light painting his skin as he reached out with one singular thought, ‘Sherlock’.  
The reaction was instant.   
John could feel something not quite, but akin to, electricity shoot up his arm, and the light of the barrier rippled and crackled as Sherlock’s lax frame fell atop the plush bed.  
‘Jesus,’ John shouted as he cradled his hand from the floor.   
A moment later he could hear knocking, as if on a thick window, from behind him.   
The doctor turned and stood, coming back to stand before the barrier, careful not to touch it.  
‘Sherlock...Sher...I can’t hear you,’ John smiled, his tears finally falling.   
The younger man knelt atop the bed with wide shocked eyes, his hands resting against the barrier without incident. He looked as if he were yelling but John couldn’t hear him. He had so many questions, but for the moment he was just happy to be able to look into the detective’s eyes and see his soul staring back. The sudden flash of lifeless blue eyes shattered the last of John’s stoicism and his shoulders shook as he covered his eyes to hide his tears. A few minutes later when he was able to calm himself he raised his eyes back to his detective.   
Sherlock still knelt, his hands balled into fists against the barrier and his forehead resting against it as well. His eyes were squeezed shut but John could see the wetness on his cheeks. His hair was longer, touching his shoulders, and his curls were wild. Though his face was clean shaven and his shirt and trousers were crisp.  
A moment later Sherlock looked up with sad baggy red eyes. He smiled slightly, just a simple upturn at the corner of his mouth, and John smiled back.   
Sherlock flattened his hands against the barrier, motioning for the vet to do the same. John took a deep breath, reaching out, implicitly trusting that the reaction would be different.  
This time there were only waves, ripples across its surface, and when they cleared he could hear his detective’s voice.   
‘John! What the bloody hell are you doing here?’  
‘I uh...followed a cat,’ he replied with a half smile.  
‘What,’ Sherlock looked away but didn’t remove his hands. ‘That makes no sense,’ he mumbled. ‘Why would she lead you here,’ he questioned to himself.  
‘Ah so she’s a she then. We’ve run into each other twice now. Does she have a name so I can stop calling her cat,’ John chuckled.   
Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment, ‘Chubby Bunny.’ (1)   
‘What...no….’  
‘That’s it, that’s her name.’  
The two stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.   
Sherlock was the first to speak as their giddy mood receded. ‘You know I thought you’d be more curious about all this.’ His eyes wandered around the room.  
‘Honestly, I’m just so glad to see you alive.’  
Sherlock’s frivolous mood died quickly, his smile falling into a frown. ‘John, you can’t be here. I don’t know why she brought you here but…,’ his keen blue eyes darted around the room with an edge of fear that John didn't see very often.   
‘Who Bunny, I don’t know, why do cats do anything.’  
John almost laughed at Sherlock’s, ‘don’t be thick John,’ expression.   
‘Sherlock, I know that look and I’m not being dense, the only living thing I’ve seen since I got home from work today is that bloody cat and you.’ The doctor was becoming agitated, but it dissipated quickly. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ He stepped closer to the barrier searching his friend’s eyes, ‘I can’t believe it...Sherlock….’  
‘John,’ Sherlock sighed as he began. ‘I...can’t explain what’s happening right now, but you must heed my words, if only this once.’ He couldn’t meet his partner’s eyes as he continued. ‘You have to leave this place. Right now.’  
‘No,’ John immediately shook his head.  
‘Forget that you saw me, forget that you came here, forget the damned cat and go.’  
‘I’m not leaving….’  
‘John,’ Sherlock added a bit more bass to his voice, hoping for his former air of authority and hoping the medic didn’t notice it’s quiver, straightening up taller on his knees. ‘Go.’  
John laughed and the detective was taken aback. He thought he’d never hear that sound again.  
‘Now look here you arrogant sod, I’m not leaving...not without you.’  
Sherlock visibly deflated, sagging against the barrier. The taller man closed his eyes, again resting his forehead against the transparent blue wall. ‘I can’t leave John. I physically can’t.’  
John began sliding his hands around the forcefield. ‘There has to be a way to break through this...wall.’  
‘That would be a bad idea.’ Sherlock rolled his shoulder, a strange look of hunger passing over his features. ‘I’ve been put in here for a reason John.’ He shook his dark head, closing his eyes, ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’  
‘Sherlock...Sherlock look at me,’ John said softly.   
The once would be pirate balled his fists and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.  
‘Fine, listen then.’ The doctor took a deep breath. ‘When you fell….’ he cleared his throat to quell the rise of unbidden emotion. ‘I um...I broke. Everything I thought I knew about the world, about you, about who I...thought I was...it all shattered.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘Watching you d...die, was so much more painful than being shot in that God forsaken desert. And now, seeing you here, alive, I can’t just, I won’t walk away.’  
‘I’m not…. John...I'm not alive,’ Sherlock whispered, thick tears betraying his small steady voice.   
‘I’m sorry?’  
‘I’m not alive, John,’ the detective yelled.  
‘What do you mean you’re not alive. I’m standing here speaking to you.’  
Sherlock finally met his eyes. ‘John...I died...I’m dead. I. Can’t. Leave.’  
His doctor stared at him, mouth slack with confusion.   
‘Sherlock...I don’t understand. If you’re dead then what is this place? Where are we and...how am I here?’  
‘You don’t need to understand, just leave!’  
‘No….’  
Sherlock pulled his hands away, mouthing what the blond could make out as ‘leave’, before turning away.  
‘No, no no no you don’t get to just dismiss me. Not after…,’ his voice began to rise with his anger. ‘Not after….’  
The first slam of his balled fists against the blue sent ripples around its entire surface. ‘Damn it Sherlock! You don’t get to just throw me away!’  
The second sent sparks flying, and the detective turned quickly in shock.   
The shorter blond was panting, his eyes screwed shut and leaking.   
‘You don’t get to order me around after making me watch you die!’  
With the next slam the sparks didn’t stop and Sherlock put his hands back on the wall.  
‘John...John stop!’  
‘Damn it!’ Slam.   
‘John!’  
‘Damn it Sherlock!’ The detective was nearly knocked backward with the force of his next blow.   
John’s shoulders shook with sobs. ‘God damn it Sherlock...I love you…,’ he whispered.  
The detective knelt, stunned. ‘John,’ his voice was small.  
‘God help me,’ the doctor trembled. ‘I love you.’ He started when he looked up. The blue wall was cracked. Long jagged lines stretched its entire surface, up to the ceiling, in front of where he stood.   
The pair stared at each other, before a small smile began to creep across the consulting detective’s lips. ‘John I...John!’  
The doctor turned but a hand clapped over his eyes, pushing him back and knocking his head in to the barrier hard enough to send him reeling.   
‘No, please! Let him stay! Just a while longer...please!’  
More than the pain in his head, it hurt to hear Sherlock sound so desperate. But he had no time to focus on that new pain. Pulled forward, he fell and instead of the plush carpet his face hit water. 

Flailing up in bed the doctor found himself badly tangled in his blankets, falling over the side in a cocoon of sheets.   
“Bloody hell,” he panted from the floor.   
When his heart finally slowed John untangled himself and sat upright against the side of his bed. Running a still trembling hand through his hair the doctor closed his eyes.   
The dream had been intense. Was it just his mind trying to process his waking life.   
His eyes began to water at the thought of being given the chance to say those three simple words to his best friend.  
‘I love you,’ John thought.   
Was Sherlock’s suicide his fault?  
Would his detective still have jumped if he’d just said it...made him understand that it wasn’t a the of love of a friend he’d meant.   
“I love you,” John whispered.   
The soldier looked over at his clock. It read twelve o’clock, midnight.   
John huffed, and rested his wheaton head on his knees. A few minutes later he rose and went to the bathroom to relieve himself, grabbing the bottle of whisky and a glass from the kitchen.   
Only when the tall bottle was a third empty was he able to drift off to a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Chubby Bunny” is a game where you stuff an increasing number of large marshmallows in your mouth and try to say the words Chubby Bunny.


	5. Chapter 5

Mary was pretty, kind, smart, and not Sherlock.   
He sat across from her sipping his third cup of whiskey and wondered if she could ever love half a man.  
‘Half a man,’ John thought. ‘That's what I am, split right down the middle.’  
“So the cat keeps stuffing marshmallows in its mouth….”  
John snorted in to his liquor, “I'm sorry what?”  
“I figured that’d get your attention,” the nurse laughed.   
John sat his glass down with an almost smile, “I'm sorry Mary, I um...I'm not all here right now.”   
“I know,” she smiled. “You've been wandering around in a fog for months.”   
The doctor rubbed at his eyes.  
“The whole office is worried about you. Asking you out on a date was the only way I could think of to keep you from going straight home and drinking yourself to sleep...again,” she leaned forward a bit on her folded arms with the last word.  
“How did you know…,” John furrowed his brow.  
“You've lost weight...I haven't seen you take a lunch break in weeks. And we can all smell that you haven't been showering or doing laundry regularly,” she said with a small smile.  
John sighed.  
“You've also been hungover nearly every morning since Sher…,” she cleared her throat at John’s wince. “Since he died.”  
John looked away, out the window to the darkening London streets.   
When the grieving man didn't answer she continued. “Have you thought about talking to someone John, a professional or...anyone?” She touched his hand, “You have friends John, we all care about you...I care….”   
“No,” he spoke quietly.  
“I'm sorry?”  
“No, I haven't spoken to my therapist. There's nothing to talk about. He was alive and now he's not.” John swallowed down the last of his whiskey in two long gulps, coughing for a moment at the burn, before standing and slipping his hand from under Mary’s. “Thank you Mary,” he began taking a few bills from his wallet and placing them on the table. “Really, it's very kind of you but I'm okay. Stiff upper lip and all that.” He began walking away but turned, swaying a bit, “tell everyone not to worry. I'll see you on Monday,” he said with only a slight slur.   
“John, John wait,” Mary called, but the doctor was already out the door. She slumped back into her seat with a sigh. “Oh John.”

As he wandered down the street in a random direction a sleek black car slowed to a crawl next to him.   
He ignored it and continued on but after a full block he stopped. The window rolled down to reveal Mycroft’s blank stare.   
“Out for a stroll Dr. Watson?”  
John looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, “What do you want Mycroft?”  
“I was informed that you may require a ride to your new residence.”  
“I’d rather walk,” he frowned without looking over at him.   
John began walking again, now limping slightly, and Mycroft’s car followed.   
The British government was silent for another half block before he disturbed the doctor’s wandering thoughts.   
“Doctor Watson, I understand that this is a trying time for you, but my brother….”  
“Piss off Mycroft,” John shouted, startling the older man.   
“Dr. Watson,” Mycroft began calmly.   
“No! You have no idea what I feel! You despised your brother,” he chuckled darkly. “Probably because you know he was smarter than you,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the arrogant man. “He was better than you in every way that matted, and I let him di….” John’s eyes were wide and wet when he realized what he was saying.   
He closed his eyes and hung his head.   
“Just go away Mycroft...please…,” he sniffed.   
He stood clenching his fist until he heard the window roll up and the car drive away.   
When the wind finally dried his tears he rubbed at his leg. The throbbing was intense so he hailed a cab.   
As soon as he walked in his front door he began stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a trail to the bathroom. He grabbed the half empty bottle of Powers off his nightstand, forgoing a glass, and turned on the hot water in the tub. Standing naked in front of the mirror he chugged another third as he watched the steam slowly obscure his face, before throwing the rest at the wall, numbly turning to the tub.  
Touching the water he pulled his hand back quickly at the shock of heat. He grumbled for a moment before switching the hot for cold. A few minutes later it was tolerable so he climbed in draping a rag across his eyes to blot out the light.   
A moment later he heard a splash, followed by wet flailing and a loud high pitched meow.  
Sitting up in the tub John tore the rag from his eyes and he couldn't help the nearly hysterical laughter that bubbled up at seeing Chubby Bunny shaking off the water now soaking her fur.   
‘I thought,’ John had to take a moment to breathe through his laughter. ‘I thought cats were supposed to be agile! How the blazes did you just fall in here Bunny?’   
The small cat did not look amused as she flicked a paw at his face, splashing him with water.   
John giggled in his drunkenness as she looked up at him and meowed.   
‘I got it,’ he began standing, swaying, in the tub. ‘Follow you, yea I know the drill.’   
Careful to avoid the broken glass on the floor John climbed out of the tub wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing another from the cupboard for Chubby.   
‘It’s been months Bunny, where the hell have you been,’ John complained as he toweled her off. ‘You’ve come to take me to see him yea,’ he asked as he dried her fuzzy black head.   
His reply was a snuggle into his hand and another meow.   
With a nod he sat the cat down on his bed to finish grooming herself and dressed quickly.   
This time, instead of the door, the chantilly (1) walked over to the window, standing up on her hind legs and pawing at the latch.   
‘Hum,’ John wondered. He opened the window and followed her feathery swishing tail up the ladder on to the roof. The pair stood for a moment taking in the huge hunters moon overhead. It was the largest John had ever seen it and it seemed close enough to reach out and touch.  
Suddenly Chubby burst in to a sprint and the soldier had no time to think as he took off after her.   
John laughed as he thought of his days following the bellowing tails of his detective’s belstaff across these rooftops.   
Finally Chubby took a flying leap across an expanse that John knew even in the Matrix he couldn't make.   
Skidding to a stop at the ledge he looked down and immediately recognized the bright red door of 221B.  
Hurrying to the fire escape John quickly descended the ladder and crossed the street.   
As he reached for the handle he didn't question the unlocked door because of the lilting violin that lured him from inside. He slowed his pace up the stairs as he spotted Chubby at the top, and he pat her head as he passed.  
John held his breath as he slowly opened the door to find Sherlock sitting cross legged in a bright ring of sunlight on the floor facing the open window. Immediately he noted that his detective’s hair shone a fiery red orange in the nearly blinding sunshine, and he stepped forward when his vision fully cleared after stepping out of the darkness of the hall.   
‘Hello John,’ the deep baritone froze the doctor in his tracks.   
‘Dear God I love that voice,’ he thought and Sherlock chuckled, standing but leaving his violin on the floor.   
He didn't turn, lifting his face to look out at a fluffy cloud passing by. ‘How have you been,’ he questioned.   
‘Sher...where the hell have you been!’  
The soldier stepped forward but Sherlock spun holding out a hand warning him back from the ring of light.  
‘John stop! We can speak but you must stay there. Stay out of the light. Stay back or I'll have to leave, do you understand?’  
The doctor frowned but nodded.   
‘Sherlock how...wha….’  
‘I'm sorry John,’ the taller man looked down at his hands. ‘I know you have a lot of questions, but I can't answer most of them. I just...needed to see you,’ he met his friends eyes. ‘I was told you weren't fairing very well and I hold myself responsible.’   
‘You're damn well bloody right you're responsible,’ John shouted. ‘How bloody stupid are you! How could you do that...just give up...just leave!’   
Sherlock’s eyes were on his bare feet. ‘Moriarty,’ he began and John’s eyes widened. ‘He had assassins waiting for Lestraud and Mrs. Hudson...and you.’ The detective met his soldier’s eyes, ‘he was going to kill everyone I care about in this world.’ Sherlock took a step forward. ‘I wasn't going to let that happen.’  
John nodded, ‘you're selfish you know that,’ he sniffed. ‘And stupid to boot.’  
Sherlock scoffed and chuckled, causing John to shake his head, smiling despite his anger. ‘You fool. If you'd just come to me we might have been able to come up with a plan that didn't involve,’ he gestured between them. ‘This, whatever this is.’  
Sherlock smiled, ‘Morearty wasn't your average criminal, or human,’ he mumbled the word. ‘Once I understood the full scope of his organization I realized that it would take...unconventional methods to rid the world of his empire.’ His voice dropped a bit lower, ‘and if it meant keeping that psychopath away from you than there was no question about what had to be done.’   
John took a deep breath.  
The whole situation was strange.   
knew he was dreaming, but seeing Sherlock, speaking to what felt like the real Sherlock and not a figment of his grieving imagination was worth the strange feeling that stood the hairs on the back of his neck on end.   
John stood up straighter and waited for Sherlock to meet his eyes before he spoke. ‘I know I'm not as smart as the great Sherlock Holmes, but I'm not stupid Sherlock. You didn't have to walk through this alone...you still don't.’  
On some basic level Sherlock knew how close he was standing to John as he gazed down in to his brilliantly blue eyes, and it was the ever present knowledge of the danger the doctor was in that kept him from stepping forward.   
John on the other hand ignored every single warning bell going off in his head. But he knew in his gut that, even if he were burnt to a cinder by the blazing light that surrounded the posh man standing in front of him, he was going to cross that line.   
Looking up into shimmering azure eyes John spoke in a low voice, ‘I’m here, I’m with you Sherlock...If there’s work to be done than do let’s crack on.’  
Sherlock smirked before he seemed to sober completely, ‘Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life,’ the detective scanned the room as he spoke, gathering his thoughts. ‘Harder than kicking cocaine...morphine…family dinners….’  
‘Sherlock,’ John chuckled. ‘Look, I know that I’m dreaming, but I also know that you are, in some way, alive. If you’re being held against your will somehow just give the word.’   
Sherlock shook his head with a sad smile and sighed, ‘I love you John Watson.’  
‘What?’  
‘What?’  
‘Did you just….’  
‘I don’t know what you mea….’  
John’s first thought as he surged forward past the blazing ring of light was, ‘I was right! It burns!’  
His second was, ‘Sweet Jesus I’m kissing Sherlock bloody Holmes!’  
The third floated by in a jumble of numbers letters and symbols as his senses were suddenly dialed up to ten.  
The silken glide of the detective’s tongue as he angled his head made the doctor’s toes curl in his trainers, and John was well flushed when Sherlock pulled back an inch or two to meet his eyes.  
The soldier winced as a moment of pain passed from the speed that his pupils had dilated, and John noted his lust didn’t fade, even as he watched the iris of his detective’s left eye swallow the now glowing blue and then the white, until all that remained was shiny black.  
‘Oh John…,’ he whispered, his voice deeper than the doctor knew was possible. ‘You shouldn’t have done that…..’  
His right hand gripped the doctor’s hair tight, while the left traced a finger down his throat, slowly sliding his collar aside.   
John stared up at the white nothingness above him pliant and patient. Even as the creature tilted his head farther back to bury his nose in his stubbly neck, he felt peacefully calm.  
‘Sherlock,’ the doctor whispered softly. ‘It’s okay.’ Skerlock flinched as the soldier cupped his cheek, the black receding from his nearly turned right eye. The dead man turned into the hand with a lick to its palm, eager for every scent and taste of his more human half.   
‘Sherlock, talk to me, what happened to you?’  
Sherlock rest his lips against the soldier’s wrist, loosening his grip in his hair, as he ground his now sharp teeth. Dropping one of his hands to the small of John’s back, the other messaged the back of his neck relaxing him further. ‘I...changed, to protect you. But I believe I’ve made a serious error in judgement.’   
‘Why’s that,’ John smiled as he kissed the creature wearing his friend’s face. His fingers tangled in the wild curls as he was pulled flush against the taller man.   
John hissed and pulled back as he accidently sliced his tongue on one of Sherlock’s sharpened canines.  
‘I thought,’ the creature met his partner’s eyes, licking the small smear of blood from his lips, as the right began to turn black again. ‘I thought I was strong enough to do this….’  
‘Sher….’  
Before John could blink he found himself flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Luckily, the now glowing ground was actually soft, but he watched wide eyed as suddenly every button on his shirt went flying when it was ripped open.   
Staring up at a trembling black eyed Sherlock John was unfazed, unrepentant despite his heart thundering in his chest.  
‘What do you need Sherlock?’  
The man in question grit his teeth, staring at John’s throat.   
John nodded, ‘it’s just a dream,’ he said reaching out to pull his monster closer. ‘You can’t hurt me,’ he whispered against his lips.   
Sherlock kissed him, slowly, before quickly latching on to the doctor’s neck, coiling around him like a snake. John’s thighs spread wide to accommodate the larger man, and he arched into the sensation as heat spread from Sherlock’s many sharp teeth through his veins.   
‘Sherlock,’ John moaned loudly a few achingly pleasant moments later, but the detective didn’t stop his slow wet drawing of the soldier’s essence. ‘Uhhh,’ John wined, taking hold of the tousled curls. He couldn’t stand the heat that was now dampening his clothes, but he moaned despite himself as Sherlock suddenly bucked hard against him. He could feel the bulge clearly against his own, but he was also beginning to feel weak in a way that was well beyond tired, despite being asleep, and he tried to bring his lover back to himself.   
‘Sher…,’ he shivered when the detective rolled his hips against him. ‘Bloody Hell,’ he panted. ‘Sherlock...sto...stop….’   
A deep, not wholly human sounding, growl was his reply and John wanted to panic.  
But he was calm, stroking the ever growing curls.   
His mind was beginning to fog and his blinks slowed. On one particularly long blink he opened his eyes to find Bunny perched atop Sherlock’s shoulder, claws dug in deep.   
Her fur moved like black fire around her, and it took him a minute to realize her little mouth was open in a loud meow. A moment later the sound reached him and he squinted his eyes shut tight as the meow slowly shifted in to a deafening roar.   
Suddenly it went silent, and then the word came to him.  
‘Acha,’ (2) he breathed.   
Immediately the teeth embedded in his skin were extracted and replaced with lips and a tongue that quickly stopped the bleeding.  
‘Sherlock,’ John whispered. His breathing was labored, but he rubbed at his monster’s back as his mind slowly came back online.  
‘Mmm...John,’ the detective croaked, nuzzling the doctor’s sore throat.   
‘I'm here,’ john comforted quietly. ‘How do you feel?’  
The boffin nipped at his soldier’s shoulder, grinding them together. John’s mouth fell open as his breathing sped up, and Sherlock’s now dilated but blue eyes met his with a lust neither had been prepared for.   
‘You need to wake up John, now.’  
‘I don’t know how, and...,’ the doctor’s thumb touched the detective’s blood red lips. ‘I’m not sure I want to.’   
With a lick of his lips Sherlock reached down John’s body to pull him free of his trousers and pants, and he kissed him softly as he slowly began to stroke him.  
The detective swallowed his partners moan as John slowly bucked in to his grasp.  
‘Sh...Sherlock,’ the doctor panted when his monster’s lips nipped along his jaw.  
Suddenly John felt a jolt run through him when his partner sped up his strokes with a twist to his wrist.   
John arched with a wail of passion as he came, and a moment later there was a ringing in his ears as he heard voices yelling and loud beeping around him.  
“John! My God John,” Mary cried as the paramedics shone a light in his eyes.   
The doctor coughed and wheezed, his lungs feeling wet.

ooo

(1) Chantilli cats are a long haired breed with low dander. My little girl is a chantilli thank goodness because I'm allergic to cats. lol  
(2) Acha is stop in Swahili according to Google Translate.


End file.
